


Hope and Love Last Longer

by Anonymous



Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF, In the Heights - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Acceptance, Alcohol, Anxiety, Anxiety induced stutter, Coming Out, Depression, Gay, Hamilton - Freeform, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Lesbian, Multi, Panic Attack, Pride, Referenced Drunk Sex, TW: Self Harm, Teacher AU, catcalling, chapter 2 is not gender neutral, graphic descriptions of self destructive thoughts, if there's a better name for it i dont know it, not always, reader is usually gender neutral, sfw, teacher!lin, teenage reader, wlw reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-11-13 17:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: This is a collection of Lin Miranda hurt/comfort one shots for when I'm sad. I love getting ideas if you want to leave them, but I make no promises that they'll get written. Like requests, but not.Chapter 1: You're helping stage a show with a star studded cast, but there's an accident on set and old habits start to resurface.Chapter 2: Your roommates don't approve of who you brought home last night, and you end up on the street with no one to turn to. Well, almost no one.Chapter 3: Lin doesn't know this, but you have an anxiety disorder, and it's getting out of hand.Chapter 4: A way more innocent teacher au than you're expecting.Chapter 5: Sequel (but can be read seperate) to chapter 2. You get way too drunk, and Lin's dad friend instincts kick in.Chapter 6: Reader gets catcalled and doesn't know what to do.Chapter 7: Lin doesn't know his partner is asexual, and he accidentally pushes things too far.





	1. Try (I Promise)

**Author's Note:**

> yes i KNOW when someone is bleeding out on the floor you should call an ambulance but i hate doctors and i didn't want to write that thank you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're helping stage a show with a star studded cast, but there's an accident on set and old habits start to resurface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of two stories I've already posted. I'm reposting them for the sake of organization, and I apologize if you've already read them.

The last few months had been the busiest of your life. Not unpleasant, but busy. Working on something that could have made you happy in better days took up enough time that you were distracted from the poison in your head. Until you got home, that is. Your nights were becoming increasingly shorter as repressed anxiety from the day wormed its way into your head by moonlight, stealing your sleep and your health.

You never would have defended the “sleep more and exercise and your depression will vanish!” mentality, but lacking in either certainly wouldn’t help the situation, and there really is no substitute for sleep. 

So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when you were at your worst on a two show day at the end of a long week of three hour sleeps. You showed up to the theatre with a large coffee in one hand and bags under your eyes, and while you didn’t mind being tired as far as work went, the leech in your brain was always worse when you were. 

By the time you got to the theatre, a bunch of the cast was already there, dancing around the set you’d put your heart and soul into, practicing a number they’d messed up last night. Not that anyone noticed. You huffed a laugh as you realized they were doing it completely a cappella. Theatre nerds still fascinated you sometimes. It probably wasn’t fair to call Lin-Manuel Miranda and Lindsay Mendez mere “theatre nerds”, but really that’s what they were at heart. 

Yawning and sagging, you went backstage for some routine set up that had become second nature by now, which you were grateful for. If you’d still been struggling with anything you were supposed to do every single day, they would have you kicked off the show. They’d find someone else.

 _You’re replaceable._

Stop. Not now. 

You were nearly finished when there was a loud crack from onstage. Heart pounding from the sudden noise, you sprinted to see what had fallen apart. 

A platform. A platform had fallen on an actor. You craned your head to see who the offended party was, and you were met with-

_Oh my god. The set I made nearly killed Lin-Manuel Miranda._

_Shitshitshitshitshit._

_Calm down. Fix it._

“I am so sorry,” Flew out of your mouth as you ran forward to help him put it back up and started checking the screws and such. “I just checked this all last night to make sure it was okay after that slip last night, I-” Your hand brushed against a hole where a screw should have been, and you froze. You should have seen that during your check up after yesterday’s show. How could you have missed something so simple? 

_Stupid._

“Then what happened?” You weren’t sure which one of the actors was talking, but he sounded tense. It must have been someone your oversight had nearly killed

“I-I guess I missed it.” You said as you grabbed a screwdriver. The wood started to crack when you forced the screw in farther than it should have been. You weren’t letting this happen again. 

“As long as no one was hurt, right?” Someone let out a light chuckle, maybe trying to lighten the mood, but when you looked back...

Yeah. No one was amused. 

_Get out of their way. They were in the middle of something before your mistake crashed on them._

“It-it should be good now.”

You practically ran offstage. Dammit. Why were you about to cry? You furiously wiped away tears gathering in your eyes. On a good day, all it took was a sideways glance to send you spiraling downhill. That encounter on top of a bad week was nearly enough to break you.

Maybe it _was_ enough to break you. 

This was nothing that hadn’t happened before, but your brain was stuck, playing that terrible scene on loop like a broken record. Your heart was pounding, and your mind was foggier than usual. By the time you realized how short your breath was, it was too late, and you were deep in a panic attack.

You threw a closet door open and practically fell in, threading your hands through your hair and squeezing until it hurt. 

_Why do you keep making mistakes like this?_

_Stupid, thoughtless, selfish._

_You shouldn’t be here. You don’t deserve to be on this stage. You don’t deserve to work with these people._

_Gross, ugly, mistake._

_They know what they’re doing. How come you never know what you’re doing? This happens every time._

_Hurt, hurt, hurt._

You needed to hurt. Needed something to release all this tension. You needed a punishment, some sort of fucked up retribution to make you feel better in that deranged thinking of yours.

There was a switchblade in your pocket. There always was. You lived in New York, it was a safety precaution.

You pulled it out and pressed it to your skin. 

_You deserve this._

_The cast deserves this. You deserve to hurt for them._

_Stop it!_

_You’ve wanted this all week and you know it. It was going to happen eventually, so why not now?_

_You’ve been doing so well!_

_You shouldn’t be here. You should bleed. You need to bleed._

_You’ll let them down. Don’t do it!_

_Go on. Pay for your mistake._

The voice was there; the one voice that still told you to take care of yourself. To slow down and let yourself heal. That last voice was the reason you got out of bed. The reason you got in bed in the first place, for that matter. The reason you never wrote about how much you hated every fiber of your being. 

You were beyond that now.

A few shallow cuts under your sweater would go unnoticed. No one would see, and no one would need to care. 

The first cut was tentative. You even flinched. It’d been a while, and breaking that winning streak felt like a loss. For a moment. 

And then that moment passed. 

After you broke, you couldn’t pull yourself together again. The next cut was quicker, more violent. The next one after that was even worse, until you were only seeing red, barely looking at your arm, just slashing, over and over again, your brain screaming your insecurities at you, reminding you of every slip up you were paying for with each cut.

Finally, you dropped the blade, hands tingling, and head spinning. You looked down.

_Oh god. Too many, too deep._

You fell against the wall, trying to pull yourself up so you could walk out, but you couldn’t do it. Instead, you slid down none too gracefully and ended up on the floor, half leaning against the wall. As you tried to make the world quit tilting, you started to panic again.

_I’m going to die here, aren’t I?_

_…_

_It doesn’t matter now, I suppose._

_No one’s going to remember me anyway._

_If this is where it all ends, then I deserve it._

And you let unconsciousness take you.

-

_“(Y/n)? Are you-”_

_“Shit.”_

_Voices._

_“Oh my god, (Y/n), please wake up.”_

_No. Just one voice._

_Ow. And it was slapping your cheek._

Your eyes opened. Everything was blurry, and your head was pounding. You just wanted him to stop hitting you.

“Oh thank god.” The voice had a face attached to it. Or what you assumed was a face. Mostly it was a blurry blob. 

You were being lifted. Carried. The blur was muttering to you, although the few words you picked up sounded more like reassurances to himself rather than you.

You were laying down again. Wood. Counter? Whatever. 

You winced as cold water hit your arm.

Oh. Yeah. The cuts. That was painful.

Bandages now. You were coming to. You turned your head to the side, and the blob turned out to be Lin-Manuel. 

Shit. That was not good.

“Lin…” Your voice was hoarse from crying. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, I got you. It’s going to be okay.” He wasn’t meeting your eye, intensely concentrated on wrapping your arm. 

You shut your eyes again. Fantastic. You really didn’t want to deal with anything right now, let alone this. 

Lin’s hands were on your shoulders now, gently guiding you into a sitting position. You made eye contact, and your heart broke. You weren’t sure if he was angry, sad, disappointed, or all of the above, but the emotion in his face was too much, and you had to look away, or you would cry again. 

Your voice was hardly more than a whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to see this, I’m sorry you had to find me-”

“No, no, no.” He said. Again: gentle. Everything he did was gentle. He was afraid of breaking you. Like if he pushed too hard, you would just… crack. 

He was probably right.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” He said. 

You groaned some sort of unintelligible denial of that fact.

He squeezed the hand of your uninjured arm. “You’re alive, (Y/n). I’m grateful you’re alive.” 

He said it so earnestly. He always sounded like he meant it, even if he was talking to a camera. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stop yourself from crying. It was all too much. He shouldn’t be seeing this part of you. You’d only wanted to be helpful with this production. He was supposed to think (Y/n) (L/n) was hard working and selfless. Not the piece of shit you actually were. 

He squeezed your hand again to get your attention. “I’m going to take you home, okay?”

“No, please don’t,” Your voice broke on the tears. “You can’t- you have a show- two shows, you can’t-”

“I’ll be back in time.” He assured you. “But I’m not leaving you like this.” You shook your head, but you made no move to protest when he helped you down from the counter he’d sat you on. You were so tired. 

“Does anyone else know?” You asked in a whisper.

“No. I don’t think so.” He answered. “I’ll get your coat and you can cover that up. Stay here, I’ll be right back. Okay?”

It took a moment, but you nodded. He thought you were suicidal. You could see it in his eyes that he didn’t want to leave you alone, just in case. You didn’t _want_ to die, but at this point, you wouldn’t exactly be opposed. You hardly remembered passing out after you cut yourself, but you were pretty sure those were the thoughts that crossed your mind. 

The door opened, and Lin handed you your light jacket. He even helped you get it over the bandage. Still, you didn’t meet his eye. 

The drive to your house was silent. You were curled in on yourself, still feeling lousy from blood loss, and wishing desperately that you could turn back time and do something- anything, really- to prevent Lin from finding you. Or anyone else for that matter. 

“When was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?’ He was still speaking softly.

“I don’t know.” You said, even quieter than him.

“Okay. When was the last time you ate?”

“Um. I think I ate yesterday.”

He didn’t answer. If there was any clue in his face or body that could have told you how he was feeling, you didn’t look at him long enough to see it. 

When you got to your apartment, he helped you up, making sure you weren’t still off balance. You had to lean against him a few times, apologizing profusely for each. He eventually sat you on the couch, and joined you.

“Lin, you really should get back. You’re far more important than me, and you need to be warmed up-”

“Don’t worry about me.” He said. “You do enough of that as it is. You need to take care of yourself. Can I make you something?” 

You shook your head. “I-I can’t. I can’t make you do that.” 

He sighed, and it shook you to your core. “‘m sorry, I’m such an-”

“(Y/n).” He touched your knees again. “Please listen to me. Whatever you’re going to say, whatever you’re thinking: it’s wrong. You are important, and you do matter. You are not an inconvenience, or an asshole, or whatever it was you were going to say. I promise.” 

“I’m- I am-”

“You are not. I swear. And I’ll stay with you until you understand that.” There was so much intensity in your voice that you almost lost it again.

“Why? Lin, why do you care? You mean so much. To me, and- and to Anthony, and Renée, and Alex, and everyone else’s lives that you’ve touched. I’m so… useless.” Before he could dispute that or whatever, you cut in over yourself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying these things. I’m sorry you’re hearing this.”

“You need to talk about it, (Y/n). And you do mean something. You’ve touched peoples’ lives too. You don’t need to be famous to do that.” He said. 

“You don’t get it-”

“I do. And I mean it. If you can’t believe that, then let me tell you that I care about you. If nothing else, I need you to believe that I want you around, and I want you to remember that when you feel like hurting yourself.” He touched your arm. “Believe me?” 

You looked at his hand. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask for. And- look at me- if you ever feel at all like you’re going to hurt yourself again and you can’t stop it, call me. I don’t care what’s going on; I’ll be there.” 

You shook your head. “Thanks, but I couldn’t do that to you.”

He squeezed your knee. “Try. Please.”

He wasn’t going to give up. “I’ll try.” You promised again.

“I’m really not going to leave until I know you’re going to be okay. I mean it. Now what do you need? Other than a hot meal and a ten hour nap.”

“Don’t- before that, can you just…?” He seemed to understand without you having to swallow your pride and ask. He wrapped you up in a hug, and you fell into him. You absolutely hated the idea of having to rely on someone else- mostly because you didn’t want to inconvenience him- but you were slipping, and this could have been the day you fell. He caught you. He deserved something for that, even if all you could offer was gratitude.

Lin laid back with you in his arms. It may have been too intimate for two friends to be lying together on a couch, practically cuddling as he ran his hand along your arm, occasionally whispering to you, but it was what you needed. It was okay. Not everything needed to be overthought. 

You drifted in and out of consciousness. He might have been singing, or maybe speaking in Spanish, but you didn’t stay awake long enough to tell. You must have fallen farther into sleep than you thought, because when you opened your eyes, you were lying alone. 

For a second you started to panic, thinking he’d just been lying about everything he’d said and had run for the hills as soon as he saw his chance, but there were pots and pans crashing in the kitchen. 

You dragged yourself off the couch and found Lin frying something in a pan. 

“Sorry I left. I wanted to let you sleep.” He smiled. 

You hugged yourself, feeling cold now that you were thinking about it. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t have much in the fridge.” He said, moving the sizzling eggs from the pan to a plate. “I made you an omelet. And a grocery list.” 

He handed you the plate and a fork. “Thanks.” You weren’t sure what else to say. 

“Hey,” He leaned down so you would look him in the eye, which you’d been adamantly avoiding all morning. “You seem far away. Do you need to talk?” 

“I feel bad.” You whispered, staring at your eggs. 

He lead you to the table and you sat down with him in spite of yourself. “You weren’t supposed to see any of this.” You said, still studying your plate in favor of making eye contact. “I feel like such a burden. No one likes to see or hear this. And now you’re worrying about me, but you should be worrying about the shows-”

“(Y/n)? Stop.” He said. You winced. “Sorry. I just meant that you aren’t a burden. I’m choosing this. I don’t feel obligated to you, and I’m glad I was there to pick you up. If you’d died in that closet, I… well, anyway, don’t feel bad. Please. For my sake if you can’t do it for your own.” 

You nodded, digging your fork into the omelet. “Okay.” 

“Hey, can I ask you something quick?” He said. 

Oh no. “Yeah.” 

“Do I have to worry about… leaving you alone?” He asked.

You flinched again. Yeah, you’d seen that coming. “No.”

“You’re telling the truth?” 

You set your fork down. Momentarily. “I don’t want to die.” You muttered. “I was just angry at myself and I lost it. I won’t do it again. Probably. Not for a while, anyway.” You added under your breath. 

You chanced a glance at him, and he was obviously still worried, but he kept his mouth shut. You wanted to reassure him, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t want to die, but you’d relapsed, and it might be difficult to repress the addiction again. You didn’t know yet.

“You’ll tell me if you do. Right?” He asked. 

“I made a promise, didn’t I?” He allowed himself a small smile of relief.

After you’d eaten, you insisted that Lin get back to the theatre so he could finish warming up. He reluctantly agreed, but made you stay back. “At least until the show.” He’d insisted. “I don’t want to leave you here, but you need to rest.” 

“What will you tell everyone else?” You had asked.

“That you threw up, and you’ll be back in time for the show. Now, rest. That’s an order from your commander.”

You chuckled a little. You still felt very much broken inside, but at least he was with you. “Hey Lin?” You stopped him on his way out.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. I’d rather tell you I’m sorry, but I don’t think that would fly.” You said.

He smiled, and a little of the pressure eased off your chest. 

“Call if you need anything. Promise?”

“I promise.”


	2. Fill the World With Music, Love, and Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Your roommates don't approve of who you brought home last night, and you end up on the street with no one to turn to. Well, almost no one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second of two stories I've already posted. I'm reposting them for the sake of organization, and I apologize if you've already read them.

You started working with Lin-Manuel when you were just out of high school. Already having had a few short plays under your belt, you moved to New York, possibly to go to college, but mostly to be close to your passion. You met Lin through an unbelievable stroke of luck and a flight back to New York after a trip home. Not only did you manage to get a window seat, but Lin was the poor sap in the middle, and you, a total nerd, recognized him immediately. Eventually you worked up the courage to say hi, and you got to talking about what was happening on broadway, and what it was like writing for it, since it was only really a dream of yours at this point. You were pleasantly surprised at how genial he was. It was natural that you, a teenager with lofty, broadway-bound aspirations, would be annoying to someone who’d already made it big, but he indulged you, and not only that, but you would have chanced at saying he’d enjoyed the conversation, given that it lasted most of the flight.

When you landed and had to part ways, you exchanged contact information, desperately hoping he couldn’t tell that your hands were shaking. And with a quick wave and a “let me know if you need any advice on your next project”, a beautiful partnership was born.

He should have been nothing more than that, really- a business partner. His awards and accomplishments were far more prestigious than your modest repertoire of successful shows- most of which were one-acts that stayed within high school auditoriums- but since he was so damn charismatic, the mutual respect turned into friendship before either of you knew it was happening. 

As anyone “in the biz” so to speak would say, you shouldn't pursue a career in the arts unless you’re willing to die dirt poor. Which you were. It was everyone's dream to write a hit show and become a name in households that couldn’t care less about musical theatre, and go on to achieve fame and insurmountable wealth, but no one was going to make Hamilton again, and that was a fact you had already faced. The conclusion you’d come to was that you couldn’t do anything else. You sucked at everything that wasn’t writing or music, and quite frankly you would have lost your mind working a 9 to 5. So, while Lin sat comfortably with two sons and a wife in upper Manhattan, you shared a closely packed apartment with a few people you didn’t really know, and still struggled to pay rent with nothing but royalties from various publishing companies. It was stressful to say the least.

After a day of being locked in your room trying to finish a song, you became overwhelmingly frustrated with yourself and your situation. You were going topower through it, but the longer you stared at the keyboard, the angrier you got. So naturally, half way through writing it, you left your apartment and went to a club you'd been meaning to check out called Cubbyhole. Of course it wasn’t the greatest idea to go to a gay club alone, but you were upset at yourself, and didn’t really give a shit at this point. You had somewhat self destructive tendencies when you were pissed.

So you flashed the bartender a fake ID and drank way too much. As a rule, you only danced when you were drunk and couldn’t care that you absolutely looked like an idiot. That way at least you had an excuse.

While you were sitting at the bar, a woman who was definitely older than you started to check you out, not bothering to be subtle at all. She bought you a drink, and you started flirting with her over the blaring music. You danced, she grinded on you, and before your intoxicated brain could process what was happening, you were taking her back to your tiny apartment.

\--

You woke up the next morning hungover and naked with hardly a memory of what or who you’d done last night. 

Unfortunately, one of your roommates did remember.

“I can’t stay with a woman who gets off on other women. You understand.” She said. “That’s the point of all-girls living arrangements.”

You didn’t understand, actually. “What do you think is going to happen when someone takes a man home? You can’t avoid it!”

“Just leave, (Y/n). Do you really want to make a scene?” She murmured with fire in her eyes.

You didn’t, even if you were pissed, so you kept your voice down.

“Please,” You whispered. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. I can’t afford an apartment in New York on my own.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be here.” She said. “Now get out.”

You couldn’t fight her, so you packed every one of your meager belongings and left without saying goodbye. They wouldn’t care. Actually, they probably would have been on the side of “kick the queer out”. They were all from small towns and just as young as you, so they were mostly spitting out what their parents had forced in their heads. Maybe they’d change eventually.

But that didn’t help you now.

As you sat outside the building, the gravity of your situation finally set in, and your heart started to race. You just lost your house and the only people in this city you could almost consider friends. All because you liked girls. Goddammit, this wasn’t the first time this happened either. Even your parents had almost kicked you out when they figured it out.

Tears started to prick at your eyes and you sat down on the curb trying to swallow the lump in your throat. _Don’t cry, don’t cry._

But you couldn’t help it. Panic and bad memories settled in your chest and took your breath. As if you didn’t feel shitty from the hangover, now you were homeless and on the verge of a panic attack.

You fumbled for your phone and started to scroll through it for some sort of solution, and landed on the other person in the city you could consider a friend.

It was hard to press the tiny buttons with shaking hands, but you eventually managed to dial Lin’s number.

 _Please pick up, please pick up._ If he didn’t, then you had nowhere else to turn. 

“What’s up?” Lin answered far too cheerfully.

“Hey, Lin.” You tried without success to keep your voice from breaking. “Are you busy?” 

“Not at the moment. Vanessa's at work and my mother has the kids. Are you okay, (Y/n)?” He asked.

“Um… not really.” You admitted. “Are you at home?”

“Yeah. Do you want to come over?” Lin asked. 

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. Tears were flowing freely down your face now, and it was hard to keep from sobbing. “Yes please.”

Trying not to cry while tears stream down your face anyway isn’t the most dignified thing to do in public, but the people riding the subway in New York had probably all seen worse. Still, it was embarrassing. And with the suitcase almost overflowing with your belongings sitting in your lap, it wasn’t hard for a total stranger to deduce what had happened.

You took a breath and knocked on Lin’s door, embarrassed and still in pain. You were wiping your face with the back of your sleeve when Lin opened the door.

You started to say something, but he immediately opened his arms for a hug that you gratefully accepted. 

“Come in,” He opened the door for you, and you saw his eyes flicker to your suitcase. He was connecting the dots.

The two of you sat in the living room as you tried to explain what had happened. “I’m- I’m really hungover, and-” You were broken off by a sob before you could get anything else out. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, trying to save yourself a little dignity.

Lin’s hand touched your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.” He said. “You can cry if you need to.”

That was all it took for you to completely break. Between what had happened, your shame at your sexuality, and his kindness, you couldn’t stop yourself from sobbing, and so that’s exactly what you did.

He wrapped his arms around you and let you cry into his shoulder while he rubbed your back and murmured that it was going to be okay. For a while, you let yourself get emotional, but you were soaking his shirt, and you felt bad about it.

It felt like an age before you pulled away wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. “I’m sorry,” You muttered.

“Don’t be.” He said it with such kindness that you almost weren’t. “What happened?” 

“Okay.” You took a breath. Your head was pounding. “My roommates kicked me out, and I have nowhere to go.” You said. “I got really drunk last night, and I… I brought someone home, and it was…”

Your gazes locked. You didn’t want to say it, but you felt like it was necessary. Your throat started to close again. “I feel really ashamed, I can’t-” You broke off and dropped your face in your hands. “I’m pathetic,” You mumbled.

“You’re not pathetic, (Y/n), you lost your house.” Lin insisted. “It’s okay to be upset.”

“No, you don’t understand.” You looked up, but only as far as the collar of his shirt. You couldn’t make eye contact. “I brought home a girl.” You whispered. “I’m… I’m not… straight.”

God, you hated this. You were nearly sobbing _again._ It was humiliating.

“Oh, (Y/n)...” He invited you in for a hug again. You were silently thankful that he never forced physical contact with you, but you really needed that hug right now.

He squeezed you tight. “You should never be ashamed of who you are.” He said. “Love is love, right?”

You pulled away. “Yeah,” Your voice was cracking. “But it still hurts.”

“I know. Why don’t you lie down? I’m sure being hung over isn’t helping you think straight.” You nodded. He stood up from the couch and knelt down next to you instead so you had room to lie down. “Can I get you a glass of water and some ibuprofen?”

You nodded again. He draped a blanket over you, and went to retrieve them.

He returned with a couple reddish pills and water. You sat up and downed them both. You hadn’t realized how parched you were.

“Feel a little better?” He smiled.

“Yeah. Thank you.” You said.

He knelt back down. “I hope you don’t still feel embarrassed or ashamed about liking girls.” He said. You shrugged.

“I was just starting to accept it,” You curled into a fetal position, unconsciously making yourself smaller. “and then that happened and kinda… ruined it. I feel pretty shitty.” You admitted.

“You’re just as deserving of love as everyone else. If I told you I was gay, would your opinion of me change at all?” Lin asked.

“Only because you have a wife,” You joked, letting yourself crack a smile.

He laughed, and you felt ten times lighter. “Besides that.”

“No, I guess not.” You said.

“Then the same rules apply to you. There’s a lot of hate in this world, and you deserve to love yourself, because that’s all you’re doing: adding more love to a world full of hate. Okay?”

“Okay.” You smiled. “Thanks, Lin.”

He stood up. “Of course. Now take a nap. By the time you wake up, the ibuprofen will have set in, and we can talk about you staying here until you can find a more permanent arrangement.”

“I couldn’t do that to your family.” You protested. “I’ll figure something else out-”

He scoffed. “Please, Vanessa and the boys love you, (Y/n). Besides, it’s just temporary.”

“Lin-”

“I insist.” He said. “But we’ll talk about it when you wake up. For now, rest, young padawan." He walked out to leave you in peace, but not before throwing you a pillow.

You didn’t need to be told again. You were still tired as hell, but for the first time since you’d started questioning your sexuality, you felt safe.


	3. Uncontrollable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lin doesn't know this, but you have an anxiety disorder, and it's getting out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its supposed to seem choppy and jarring. This is a very specific way of experiencing anxiety because it's how I experience mine. Hopefully it's still accessible despite being so exclusive.
> 
> That being said, it's midnight and I might fix up the end later. Cheers!

You had no idea what brought this on.

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. This sudden terrible spike of anxiety seemed out of nowhere, but if your mind was functioning well enough to connect the dots, you would realize that you’d started taking prescription allergy meds recently, and had made a sudden move from a relatively small town to New York City, which was about the most drastic change you could have possibly made. On top of that, you were technically without a job. It was entirely possible to make a living on royalties from publishing companies, but until you actually made enough money to pay rent each month, you couldn’t bring yourself to call that your employment. Unfortunately, your brain was so hyperactive and overworked that you didn’t come to this conclusion. 

Normally you could sleep off sudden panic, which was an easy solution given how much you loved to sleep, but every morning since you’d moved, you’d woken up with a knot in your stomach and unable to take a full breath. 

Today was particularly bad. You’d always been pretty shaky, which you attributed to some bad habits in your middle school years (a dark time for everyone), but you could hardly hold a pencil right this morning.

It didn’t really matter, but you were self conscious about it. You had a brainstorming session with Lin today, and you didn’t want him to notice. You didn’t want him to worry.

Anxiety and self esteem issues were a package deal, so it seemed. The more you needed help, the less you felt you deserved to ask for it.

You decided to skip the coffee this morning on the probably irrational fear that it would make the tremors in your hand worse, so now your brain was running on super speed _and_ you were more tired than usual. It was making the bus ride so much worse. When you were dozing off, half-awake half-asleep nightmares flashed in confusing patterns behind your eyelids, and when you were mostly conscious, you could practically feel everyone’s eyes on you, sense the crash the bus was about to get in, feel the impending doom on the country via its current president. Of course, the rest of the patrons were probably not staring at you, and the bus didn’t crash, but even so, everything was weighing on you, crushing your lungs and taking your breath.

“Gmorning, (Y/n)!” Lin was ready by the time you made it to the coffee shop you were meeting in. His laptop and headphones were set up, and he had pages and pages of handwritten notes scrawled on a notepad. All of this and your own things warranted sitting at a table for four, just to make room for everything. 

“Hi Lin.” You sat down, still feeling like you were being watched, but pulling out your laptop and various notes anyway.

“So,” He patted the table excitedly. How he always had so much energy was a mystery. “I took that beat you gave me and I put it in here,” He passed you his headphones and you listened. It was a much more complicated version of a rhythm you came up with last time you met.

“Great. Then-then I’ll-I’ll-I’ll orchestrate it and… and see- see what you think about… the ensemble.” You pinched yourself. Fucking hell, was it really that difficult to speak?

The answer was yes, you always stuttered, and it was so much worse when you were nervous. It was a wonder you were making sense at all. In a state of panic, your brain didn’t bother working out what it was going to say before it was coming out your mouth.

“Glad we’re on the same page. I’m having trouble working out this section.” He scrolled to a different part of the file. “I know what I want it to sound like, but I’m not sure what to use…” 

He played the clip for you, and you had some ideas, but you couldn’t put them together in a way that made sense. It was like there was a gap in your head and you didn’t have a bridge to connect the two parts. 

“What do you think?” Lin asked. 

“I…” Shit, you were on the spot. Your head started to race, to put something together, anything, in an attempt to please him. You just wanted him to stop staring at you, anticipating something that was actually smart to come out of your mouth. Time signatures, something about changing the time signature. What were you trying to say? It was in your head, just think, make it happen, oh god, he’s waiting, he’s going to get impatient-

Lin touched your shoulder, and you flinched. “Are you okay, (Y/n)?” He asked. “I’ve never seen someone look so terrified about writing music. And that’s saying something.”

You ran a hand over your face like it would reset you somehow. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just-just-I’m- _fuck._ ” You could barely work around your stammering. Hell, even if you could, you had no idea what to say. _Hey, famous colleague, I’m having anxiety issues that are so bad I can hardly breathe._

“It’s nothing.” It was a lame excuse, but better than nothing.

He wasn’t convinced. “We can do this another time if you have… something going on.” 

“No!” You said way too loudly. Another mistake. “No, no, I’m fine.” You insisted. 

“Okay,” He didn’t want to pry, he was too polite for that, but he was still suspicious. 

The worst part was that you couldn’t give an excuse. This would be understandable if your parents were in the hospital or your house was being repossessed or something, but as far as you could tell, you had no reason to be overreacting so harshly to absolutely nothing. Stupid, stupid-

“(Y/n)? Hey, you drifted off for a second. Did you hear what I said?” 

You blinked. “What? I’m-I am so sorry. What did you say?” 

He stared at you for a second with a look you couldn’t decipher, but wished he’d stop giving you. Then, he closed his laptop.

“Lin? What-what are you-”

“Something’s up. Your hands are shaking and you can barely talk. What’s going on?” Lin asked.

You tried to process how to react to this for a moment, and your brain gave you a 404 error. “You don’t need to- this isn’t- don’t worry about it.” 

“Let’s put this away for now,” He put his laptop back in its bag, and crammed his notes alongside it. “Are you free same time tomorrow?”

“What? No, we can do it now. I’m fine, I’ll be better, I’m sorry.” He couldn’t stop for you. It might seem minor, but you would never be able to forgive yourself if you hindered this project in any way. He was a busy man. He had better things to do than put up with you, and he was doing it anyway.

“No, you don’t- you can’t stop- not for me, I’m not worth it-” The last part slipped out. You didn’t mean to say that. 

“Now I know something’s wrong.” Lin stood up and jabbed a thumb in the direction of the counter. “Let’s get our coffee and talk, okay? We can just hang out for once.”

“Lin-” You were starting to wheeze. Your heart was racing; you were overwhelmed with a simple business interraction, and now he was seeing it, along with anyone who happened to be eavesdropping.

As if he wasn’t worried before. He dropped back into his seat and leaned over the table to lay his hand on top of yours. “Hey, hey, (Y/n), breathe, just breathe. It’s okay, nothing’s wrong. It’s just us, okay? I’m sorry if I upset you,” He looked at you like he was searching for confirmation that he did.

You shook your head. “No, no, it’s just…” You swallowed. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

“You don’t need to talk. Deep breaths, okay?” Once he was sure you were at least trying to listen, he continued. “I don’t mind. I’m not upset, or judging you.” 

You nodded, trying to force the words through your skull. You had a hard time believing you were anything more than a burden to him. You dropped your head. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” His thumb minutely stroked the back of your hand. 

“Yes I do. We should be working right now. I’m embarassing you.” You said.

“I’m not embarassed. Right now I’m concerned. Are you breathing right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s-it’s better- more under control.” Damn stutter.

“Okay. Good. Do you want to talk to about it?” He asked. 

You wanted to say no. Actually, you were going to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Without answering, you both grabbed your coffee and sat at a smaller table. You were going to say something small and insignificant to sate him, but revealing one thing was opening a floodgate, and soon you were on the verge of tears as fears and insecurities spilled from your lips. 

When you were finished, and furiously rubbing your eyes, you apologized again, but he wouldn't have it. 

“(Y/n), if I’m allowed to say this, I think it might be good for you to talk to a therapist.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“I’m not saying you’re crazy or broken. I’m just saying it might be a good idea to have someone to talk to. Not that I mind you talking to me, but I'm not a professional."

You flashed back to when you asked your parents for help. You were only thriteen years old, and already struggling with a rampant anxiety disorder. However, telling them about the issues you were having was the wrong choice, and you regret it. Many diet plans and workout routines later, along with a fair bit of trauma from the misunderstandings your parents had about your mental health, you were in the same place you were before, if not worse.

“(Y/n)?” Lin squeezed your hand. "Where are you?"

"Sorry, sorry, I'm- I'm here. I've had bad experiences with... with therapists." You explained. "I don't think- I can't-"

"Breathe." Lin reminded you. "Just breathe."

You nodded and took a moment to compose yourself.

"Will you try it? Please?" He asked.

"I don't know. It's expensive, and I'm really not good at it." You said, trying to take a more sensible approach to avoid discussion of why you were so averse to the idea. 

He considered this. "I'm worried about you. It hurts me to see such a brilliant mind in so much pain."

You let out a dry laugh. "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"I can't hear it right now." You answered, probably clarifying absolutely nothing.

"It's the truth. I want to see you taking the steps to recovery. If it doesn't work, you can slap me in the face and never go back, but please give it another chance?"

You saw the desperation in his face, and you couldn't say no. You took a deep breath. "Fine."

He smiled. "I'll be there every step of the way. I promise."


	4. Cookie-Cutter Teenage Bullshit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A way more innocent teacher AU than you're expecting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS: Crippling self doubt, mention of verbal abuse
> 
> this is completely innocent. please in the name of all that is holy don't make it weird or gross.

The bell rang, and you jerked awake.

 _Shit._ You fell asleep. And now your classmates were leaving the classroom, and you didn’t have the slightest idea what the lesson was about. He opened the lecture with a story about something his bilingual son had done, and it must have pertained to the rest of the lesson, but you were out for it.

You could ask him to explain, and pray to God that Mr. Miranda hadn’t seen you fall asleep, but as soon as you stood up, anxiety flared in the pit of your stomach, and you decided against it. Instead, you ducked your head and started to leave, still blinking sleep out of your eyes.

“Hey, (Y/n),” He called after you before you could leave. Dammit.

You turned like you were facing your executioner. “Yeah?”

“Get some sleep tonight, okay?”

That was nice, but still embarrassing. You nodded and laughed, more from nerves than anything else. 

The truth was, you were trying your damnedest to sleep at night, but you were plagued by racing thoughts as soon as you hit the pillow. And if you did manage to drift off, you were woken by a nightmare within the hour. You didn’t fall asleep in class very often, especially English, but lately, restless nights on top of worsened stress and anxiety were taking their toll on you. 

The night that followed was no better than the rest of the past few weeks, and you went to school feeling just as sluggish and lethargic as the day before. You walked from class to class spending more energy on trying to stay awake than on paying attention. You may as well have been sleeping, because you weren’t taking in any information anyway.

English was the hour after your lunch period, which was a recipe for disaster even with a full night of sleep. You tried desperately to stay awake while Mr. Miranda taught something about symbolism in Julius Caesar, but you passed out resting your head in your hand.

_Falling..._

_Falling…_

_Something is happening. You can’t find anyone. You’re forgetting something- what is it? What are you doing wrong? Why are you alone?_

_Screaming. Someone is screaming, it must be at you, it’s so loud, it’s-_

You woke up with a choked gasp, and you stopped yourself from screaming just in time to realize that you were in the middle of class. Actually, it’s closer to the end now.

Trying to reorient yourself, you glanced around. It looked like either no one saw you jolt, or no one cared.

Except that you made eye contact with Mr. Miranda.

He gave you a subtle but lingering look in which you saw way too much: I saw you sleeping in my class, and I definitely saw you jump three feet in the air when you woke up, but I’m not going to call you out on it because knowing you, you’d die of embarrassment, and I may be a teacher, but I’m not that cruel. All at once.

When the bell rang, you speedwalked out of the room like your life depended on it. He probably wouldn’t have said anything, but you’d rather save yourself the trouble. There was an assignment in your hand that you had no idea what you were supposed to do with, and you absolutely weren’t going to ask now. 

When you pulled it back out at home, you stared at it for two seconds and realized you couldn’t do this without it being explained, so naturally, you dropped your head on the textbook.

Why were you being so dramatic? People fell asleep in classes all the time, and Mr. Miranda taught English. He was definitely used to it. You needed to get over this stupid anxiety and pull yourself together. If this kept up, you were going to fail the test, and that was absolutely not happening.

Besides, if your nightmares were making their way into the naps you- intentionally or otherwise- snuck in during the day, you were going to have to stop taking them. You were already weird enough as it was. No one needed to see you jumping out of your chair every time you woke up.

Your parents were yelling in another room, and when they realized you were home, your dad turned his yelling on you. It wasn’t the worst thing that had happened between you, but between the lack of sleep and already frayed nerves, it was overwhelming. You ended up retreating to your bedroom when it was too much for you to handle, cursing yourself for being stupid when you started crying over it.

In the end, you totally half-assed the English assignment, but it was done, so you turned it in the next day anyway, and swore to yourself that you would stay awake.

Of course, you still fell asleep, and you still had a nightmare. This time, you didn’t remember it when you woke up. Your eyes flew open and you gasped, but all you could recall was someone shouting. Needless to say, you hadn’t taken much from the lesson.

Class ended, but before you could slip out, Mr. Miranda called your name. “(Y/n), can I talk to you about an assignment?” 

You hissed under your breath, but stayed behind as everyone else filed out.

He smiled as you turned to his desk, clutching your binder close to your chest like a shield. “How are you doing?” He asked.

“Uh,” You blinked. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He asked. “You seem… not fine.”

“What do you mean?” You did know, but you were stalling.

He was still kind of smiling, but it seemed sad. Or maybe sympathetic. “You’re usually one of the best students in here this hour. Something going on?”

You debated telling him, just to get it off your chest, but decided against it. He didn’t want to carry all your emotional baggage; he just wanted to know why you were suddenly getting 50% on assignments. 

“I… no.” Was what came out of your mouth. “Just tired.”

He nodded. “Alright. Well, if you need to talk about it, I’m always here. Do you understand the section we’re working on right now?” 

“Actually...” You were going to admit it. Really, you were going to just ask for help, but you couldn’t. Your heart started to race, and you unconsciously rubbed a hand over your chest. 

He must have seen what was happening. “Get your book, and I’ll explain it. What class do you have next hour?”

You let out a breath. “Art with Mr. J.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here.”

As Mr. Miranda explained what you’d learned over the past few days, never calling you out for falling asleep, you started to feel guilty that you hadn’t gotten this. It was all relatively easy, and had you’d been conscious to learn it, there wouldn’t have been a problem. You were supposed to be a good student, and here you were, making him reiterate a lesson you should have understood.

“(Y/n)? You okay? You seem kinda far away.”

“What?” You snapped back into reality. “Sorry, I’m listening. I’m sorry.” You meant to sound more convincing, but it came out as a pathetic stage whisper.

“Don’t worry about it.” He went back to explaining the assignments, but you immediately zoned out again. You were finding it hard to stay in the moment, and you kind of wanted to cry. Goddammit, why were you getting overwhelmed _now?_ Nothing is happening, _you’re fine. Get over it._

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

There were tears welling in your eyes and you hadn’t even noticed. You furiously wiped them away. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” Your voice cracked.

Mr. Miranda gently closed the textbook and knelt down so he was lower than the chair you were sitting in, and you were looking down at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

You nodded, but you couldn’t speak. If you did, you would sound like you were sobbing, and this was embarrassing enough.

He stood up and patted your shoulder. “I’m going to call Mr. J and tell him you’re in here, okay?”

You composed yourself while he did that, but your eyes were puffy and red, and there was still a lump in your throat.

When he hung up, he came back to where you were sitting, but you avoided eye contact. “So,” He said. “You clearly need a break.”

You rolled your eyes in bitter contempt at yourself. “I’m a disaster. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize. If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll send you down to the counselor’s office and you can vent there, but I really want to make sure you’re okay before you go back to class.”

You shrugged, throwing your arms up too vigorously. “‘s stupid. Teenage drama.” You said. “I’m stressed- end of the semester, you know- and my parents keep yelling at me, and I feel so lonely all the time.” You laughed, and it was wet and full of hatred. “I told you it was dumb.”

“No, I get it. Being a kid is hard. I wouldn’t trade places with you for a million dollars.” He pulled up a chair, and you felt like you were in a therapist’s office. “Well, once the semester ends, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. Are you worried about your grades?”

You sighed. “Yeah. My parents really don’t like it when I get B’s.”  
“B’s?” His eyes went wide. “Wow. High standards.”

You honestly didn’t know at this point. They’d been like that forever. “I think my grades will be up in time, but I don’t know.”

“Did you get all A’s last quarter?” 

“I think so.” 

He tapped his pen thoughtfully against his leg. “Then if your grades are B’s this quarter, they’ll probably average out to A’s, and you don’t have anything to worry about.”

This did nothing in helping you feel less stupid. That probably should have been obvious. “Oh.” You said.

“And you said your parents are yelling at you?” Concern crossed his face.

“No- well, yes. We ‘fight’, and I can’t really argue with them, because they get angry at me for talking back, so it ends up being me getting yelled at and them getting angry. It’s no big deal, it’s just hard to take sometimes.” You answered.

He didn’t seem convinced. “I hope it gets better. I wish I could do something.”

“No, don’t worry about me.” You said.

“Are you in any extracurriculars?” He asked, changing the subject.

“Not really.” You answered. You were taking some electives that may have counted as extracurriculars, but other than that your schedule was mostly empty. Anxiety held you hostage, keeping you from joining clubs, trying to force your way into social circles that didn’t want you.

“Mm. Yeah, you aren’t really the outgoing type, are you?” He said.

“Uh. No.” You said. “My grade is so dramatic. I hate it. I don’t know what I did, but no one likes me anymore. If they ever did.”

To his credit, he looked sympathetic, even though this was cookie-cutter teenage bullshit. “I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“I’m really weird.” You said. 

He smiled. “You’re just as weird as the rest of them. Some of them just do a better job of hiding it.”

Mr. Miranda reached for a shelf behind him and produced a couple sheets of paper from it. “Here, take these.”

One of them was a poster for a production of a play called _The Fiddler on the Roof._ The other was a signup sheet of some sort that asked for your name, your vocal range, your- oh. 

“You want me to be in the school play?” You asked incredulously.

“I want you to try it. You don’t need to have a big part- you can even be stage crew if you want- but I think you could meet some other weird people there. And you can get out of the house.” He said. “After the semester ends,” He added quickly. “Lower the stress levels a little bit.”

You wiped the remaining tears off your face, trying to make sure you were mostly pulled together, and sighed. “If you say so.”

He chuckled. “You’re allowed to tell me I’m an idiot and throw those back in my face if you want.”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll give it a shot. You like this stuff, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve written a few of my own, actually.”

“Really?” You asked. “About what?” 

He grinned. “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve written a hip-hop musical about Alexander Hamilton?” 

You couldn’t even begin to imagine your English teacher rapping. “That sounds…”

“Stupid? I know. You’ll have to take my word for it.” He said.

You looked out the window. The weather was nice, and you were all pent up in this sad brick building. “I don’t want to go to class.”

“I have prep right now. You can’t tell anyone about this, but you can chill in here for the rest of the hour if you want. Or you could sleep.” He suggested.

Ignoring the fact that he was almost forty years old and he used the word “chill”, you smiled suspiciously. “Really?”

“Sure, make yourself at home. I’ve got some chocolate that’s been sitting in my desk for probably a decade. Want some?”

“I have never wanted chocolate more than I do right now.”


	5. Throw Away Your Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all i have to say for myself is that i too hate the title of this chapter but my fingers typed it and i have no other ideas
> 
> this is a very short drabble-y sequel to chapter 2 (Fill the World With Music, Love, and Pride) where you go out again and have way too much to drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS: Alcohol abuse, underage drinking

“Get in.”

There wasn’t a moment of silence. Lin was mostly successful in reigning in his anger, but it was still obviously there. “What were you thinking, (Y/n)?” 

You rolled your eyes, taking your head with. “I’m so sick of being single.”

“That’s a terrible excuse.” He said.

“Everyone is so angry all the time. I just want to get with a hot lady. What’s wrong with that? You said it yourself: ‘love is love’ and all that bullshit.” Your speech was slurred and tired, but you didn’t notice or care.

“Don’t turn my words against me- you know very well that’s not what I meant! Just because you’re not getting with a man does not mean you can sleep with someone that much older than you.”

“Age is just a number, right Mr. Hamilton? Love is love!” You laughed.

“Not when you’re eighteen, she’s almost fifty, and you’re drunk out of your mind. That woman was your boss, (Y/n). I couldn’t-”

“I’m an adult!” You said, spitting the last word at him. “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

The car stopped. “You’re living under my roof, and you’re still underage. I have some say in it.” Lin opened your door for you and started to help you out. You tried to push him away, but you stumbled trying to shove him. “No! leave me alone!” You cried like a petulant child.

Lin wrapped an arm under your shoulders and led you into his apartment as you made small noises of protest at being dragged around. 

“‘m going to go out again tomorrow,” You slurred. Lin laid you down on the couch and threw a blanket over you. You were going to get up and try to escape, but you were actually pretty tired, so you stayed. “You can’t stop me.” 

Lin was pouring you a glass of water, unfazed by your whining. “Well at least you’ll be making that decision sober.” 

He set the glass of water on the end table and sat on the other couch, probably opening Twitter. 

You wanted to spite him, even if he was already angry, but there was nothing you could do but not drink the water, and you really needed it. So you took it anyway, glaring at him the whole time, not that he noticed.

You laid there for a while, not falling asleep, not really trying that hard. Something in your brain must have shifted with the alcohol because suddenly you were overwhelmed with worry, and you started to cry. “Lin?” 

He looked up, and only now noticed that you were in distress. Even so, he wasn’t terribly concerned. He was probably chalking it up to the inebriation, which was a fair assumption. “(Y/n)?” 

“Are you mad at me?” 

It took him a second to register what you were asking, before his face softened. “No, I’m not mad at you.” 

“Are you sure?” You asked.

He changed seats in favor of sitting by you on the couch where you were lying. “I’m sure. You need to get some sleep.” He smiled softly. Tiredly.

“Fine.” You groaned, but not too much. If he wasn’t already mad, you didn’t want to make it worse. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

He chuckled. “Of course. Two babies weren’t enough to keep me on my feet.”

“‘m not a baby.” You protested.

“Close enough.”


	6. You're the Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader gets catcalled and doesn't know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a quick thing I wrote in a half an hour or so. You know what this is inspired by (I hope). Unfortunately, the reader is female. I didn't really know how to keep this one neutral.

_Old Man Miranda - 11:17 pm  
Just closing up. Meet you outside!_

You were so damn exhausted. It was a good exhausted, the kind most people would feel after a tough workout. Two show days always ended in wanting to pass out on the floor, but you and Lin were getting dinner tonight, for no better reason than to shoot the breeze outside of work. There was really no free time to simply exist when in the middle of a run as big as this one, and Lin, as close as you were, liked to make room for it as you insisted that he needed as many breaks as everyone else.

As you were locking your phone, there was a low whistle a few feet away. You tuned it out- everything on the street was white noise, and you assumed more often than not that nothing was directed at you.

“Hey girl!”

“Hey you, sugar, over here!”

It took a second for you to look up and realize the rough guys leaning against the brick wall of the Richard Rodgers were calling to _you._ And you immediately froze.

“Where’re you going dressed like that?”

“I can show you a good time!”

You genuinely didn’t know how to respond. Admittedly, this had never happened to you before. You were from a small town, and if anyone was even out on the street, they weren’t saying things like this. More likely, they were tourists trying to find directions to the nearest bakery. You were absolutely not equipped for this part of city living.

“I…” You stammered, choking on the words. What if you provoked them? They were probably harmless, you hoped, but what would they do if you happened to upset them? 

One of the guys dared to get close to you, evidently trying to elicit a response. This was somehow so much worse. This wasn’t whistling or yelling from a distance; in this position, this was was a confrontation. Alarms blared in your head- no longer to warn you that this was a strange and unfamiliar situation, but that it could be dangerous, and you needed to get out. “Yo girl, you look _fine.”_

“Thanks, I’m flattered! The trick is good conditioner and naturally sexy hips.” Lin did a little sashay, and then swung his arm over your shoulder and pulled you away. You jumped, barely even registering what had happened, it was so fast.

You must not have noticed the door opening in your stupor, but Lin had come outside and taken the hit for you, and you were walking fast away from the theatre, and the guys standing around it.

“Fuckin’ douches. That doesn’t usually happen on this street.” He muttered. All the humor was gone from his expression.

Finally you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank you. So much.” 

His face softened when he looked at you. “Of course. Are you okay? They didn’t touch you or anything, did they?” 

“No, no, I’m fine, just… I’m a small town girl, you know? Little bit shaken.” Still, despite the lightness of how you said it, you were pressed against him, and you really didn’t want to let go.

He had already called an Uber, and you both climbed in. He must have noticed your clinging, because he held your hand while you were in the car, every so often grazing his thumb across the back. It was surprisingly calming.

When the car stopped, Lin rushed out and opened your door for you, offering you his arm like you were about to attend a masquerade ball in the 1700s. “M’lady,” He said. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, because he was a massive dork, but took the escort anyway. 

Thank god you hadn’t planned anywhere fancy to eat tonight, because a 50s-style milkshake and a greasy burger were exactly what you needed right now. The pair of you sat in a booth, and while he talked about the next big idea he’d fallen in love with, you gave half smiles and nods. You were interested, really, it was just…

“Hey, are you okay? You seem a little bit… not.” He said when he noticed.

You fiddled with the straw of your giant shake. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking. It really sucks how a small thing can kinda ruin your mood, you know?” 

He knew what you were talking about. “Oh. Yeah. Guys are dicks sometimes. It’s an occupational hazard.” 

You let yourself chuckle. “I know, I know, I need to get over it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You were quiet. He was weighing the words he wanted to say. 

“You’re nothing if not tough. Actually, (y/n), you’re fantastic.”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t have to give me a whole pep talk because I’m in a bit of a bad mood, Lin.”

“That’s not what this is about.” He said. “I don’t tell you it enough. You’re the best. Seriously.”

You smiled, tired and beaten, but smiling nonetheless. “Thanks, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Anytime.”


	7. Always Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lin doesn't know his partner is asexual, and he accidentally pushes things too far.

Lin was a perfect symphony of his experiences and wonderful genius creativity. He was a poem and a sunrise. You balanced each other in such a way that you had moments of sharp insecurity in which you thought you didn’t deserve such a blindingly bright presence in your life.

You tried to take things slow, but your connection was so obvious from the beginning that being patient was more of a formality than anything else- a reassurance that you weren’t making this up. You’d quibbled over trivial things, and had to agree to disagree on more than one occasion, but the biggest issue was both of you being so busy. And so it was, nights like these, where you could lie down and simply exist together were pure bliss. 

You were completely wrapped around each other, a tangle of limbs and warmth, as a gentle playlist cycled in the background and you dozed in and out of sleep. 

“(Y/n)?”

“Hm?” You blinked.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Your head was tucked under Lin’s chin, and you could feel the vibrations when he spoke.

“Nope. What did you say?” 

“I asked when your next concert is. I want to make it to one soon.” He muttered. You were close enough that you could mumble.

“Saturday. But don’t feel like you need to cancel stuff to come or anything.” You said.

“I want to see you perform.”

“It’s an orchestra, it’s not like you can hear me anyway.” You closed your eyes again.

He hummed, apparently without the energy to argue that point. You didn’t blame him- he’d had a busy week. Instead, he elected to kiss you, soft and sweet, and filled with passion.

You sighed. “I miss you when you’re gone all day.” You breathed against his lips. 

He smiled, but again chose kissing you over talking. You pressed closer to him and let it become more heated, him tugging at your hair and stroking his thumb over your hip.

“Mm, I do need to be home more often.” He said. In one swift move, Lin lifted you over so you were lying on top of him while you giggled, which made him grin. He loved your laugh, even when you didn’t.

Your gentle kissing turned into full-blown making out, and while you were fine cuddling and dozing, this was just as good. Lin wove his hand through your hair, eventually pausing to attach to your neck. He smiled against your skin, and his hand rushed to the bottom of your shirt. 

Warning lights flashed in your head, and your chest constricted. Shit. You hadn’t even realized where this was going in his mind.

Your face changed, but he didn’t notice, still leaving marks on your collarbone. You masked the fear and let him continue. He played at the straps of your bra, pulling away momentarily to plead with his eyes. And you nodded.

He lifted your shirt over your shoulders, and did the same to his own. He kissed you, and you kissed back, but your heart was beating way too fast to simply be flustered, and you were trembling like a leaf. 

Lin pulled your pants down by the waistband and, again, returned the favor for himself, before turning you over again and pinning you to the bed, to which you stiffened immediately.

He touched the fabric of your underwear. “Is this okay?” He asked.

Again, you swallowed and said “Yes”. 

It was almost worth the smile on his face. He pulled the rest of both of your undergarments off, and discarded them in a pile on the floor. You felt ashamed. He’d seen you naked before, but this context was completely foreign to your comfort zone. He gave you a look one last time to make sure that this really was what you wanted, and you, again, reassured him. 

Lin pressed his lips to your skin in a line down your body. You would have enjoyed it if you didn’t know where this was inevitably going, and tears threatened to prick your eyes as he got further down. 

After grabbing a condom, he gripped your hips and slowly pushed into you, kissing you and holding you tight, whispering quiet enough that you couldn’t even hear. 

You hated this. When he asked, you told him you were okay, but everything in you was screaming.

He started to move, rocking gently back and forth, and evidently that was enough to push you over the edge, and tears started to fall from your eyes. You tried to wipe them away, but Lin must have seen before you had the chance, because he immediately stopped and pulled away.

“(Y/n)? What’s wrong?” It was a soft question, apparently he wasn’t too concerned, until something about the way he said it made you break. Your hand flew up to your mouth as a sob broke, and you couldn’t stop yourself after that. It was too much; this was all too much.

Now Lin was freaking out, although he tried his best to hide it. He snatched a throw blanket from the side of the bed and wrapped you in it, since it was quicker than getting your clothes, and whispered to you: small reassurances that you didn’t pick up over your crying. 

“Breathe, please breathe, (Y/n),” He said, and you tried to comply. You needed to pull yourself together. The worst part of this was seeing him trying to conceal how terrified he was.

“I-I’m sorry,” You hiccupped. 

“No. No, no, no. It’s okay.” He wasn’t touching you, probably praying to god it wasn’t something he’d done that triggered this response. 

You wanted him to hold you and tell you it was okay, but you could bear it. He might push you away, and that would be the worst possible outcome. 

You were starting to pull it together now. Furiously, you wiped your eyes. “It’s not- It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.” 

“What happened?” He asked. “Whatever happened-”

“Lin,” You said. He shut up. “It’s- it’s not…” You couldn’t say it. Memories resurfaced, forcing you to recall every other relationship that your asexuality had turned sour. You weren’t sure if you could handle it if the same thing happened here. 

“I’m- I can’t-” You took a breath. If you didn’t get this out, that look of horror was going to stay plastered on Lin’s face forever, and you couldn’t do that to him. “I’m asexual.” It came out as a stage whisper, voice breaking in the middle.

His face dropped, in relief or despair, you didn’t know.

“I know I should have brought this up sooner, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Really, I’m so sorry-”

His hand brushed your shoulder, testing the waters, trying to make sure it was still okay for him to touch you. “No, I’m sorry. I should be sorry. I should have asked you to say you wanted it-”

“Wait, you’re- you’re not mad?” 

“What?” He asked. “Of course not. Not at you. I feel guilty that I was so oblivious. I’m so sorry I pushed you like that-”

You dropped the blanket, regretting it a little in the moment, and wrapped your arms around his neck, and he reciprocated. For a moment, there was silence.

After a short time, he stood up, carrying you on his hip like a child, and retrieved the pile of your clothes. He set you on the bed to let you dress, and then did the same.

When you were clothed and he asked if you were okay once again, you opened your arms and he gratefully scooped you into an embrace, and laid down on the bed again. You were still a little shaken. 

“So do you… want to talk about this?” You asked. Admittedly, you’d never made it this far. Usually after you told partners, they were angry you hadn’t mentioned it during the dating process, or just after you’d met, and you never knew how to explain the anxiety behind having to bring up a topic as personal as your sexuality within the first couple dates. And by the time you’d known each other, you didn’t want to risk them leaving. Of course, that backfired fairly often, didn’t it?

“Yeah.” He said, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?” 

“I’m fine, Lin. Seriously. I’m afraid that you won’t want me now.”

“What?” He asked. “Of course I still want you. I love you.” He paused for a second. “I hope this isn’t rude, and don’t ever feel pressured, but do you think you’ll ever want to have sex?”

You were quiet. “I don’t know. I’m sure I could, I don’t want to disappoint you-”

“You won’t.” He squeezed you. “Please don’t ever feel like you need to give me something to satisfy me. You being here- alive and happy- is and will always be plenty.” 

You could cry. Again. Instead you buried your head in his chest. “I love you. So much.” 

You felt him smile against your neck. “I love you too.”


End file.
